


Skyrim Kink Bingo

by KindListener



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bondage and Discipline, Light BDSM, M/M, Masochism, Punishment, Sadism, Silence Kink, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindListener/pseuds/KindListener
Summary: Got a 7 by 7 bingo card generated for Skyrim. I’m excited to write about my handsome boys.





	1. Desperate for More

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: ‘Must Keep Quiet’ and ‘Feel It’ by Kate Bush.

A shiver creeps up Hadvar’s spine as cold, winter air gusts through his barrack walls, in Solitude. A strange draught. He never used to get ones this cold but— A turn and he’s face-to-face with a slender, Dark Elf, eyes liquid black and he falls into them.

_After the party, you took me back to your parlour._

Helgen was a disaster. They were survivors. He needs this. He wanted this. Silent under his heavy gaze, the Imperial seems to shrink to the dark corners, scared by his mere arousal toward the Dunmer. The uniform armour of the Dark Brotherhood. What had this foreigner become? The soft-spoken elf had had learnt. Learnt to sneak into abodes; to murder, to plunder, to take whatever he desires. Is that what he intends to do?

_A little nervous laughter, locking the door._

In backing away, the slightly shorter man’s calves stop at the edge of his bed, causing him to fall. Strong, lean arms catch him from falling, his breath catching in the beginnings of a shocked yelp. With a thin finger to his pink lips, D’Nias motions for the Imperial to hush. He does and the assassin places him, softly, onto the bed, a knee coming up to the mattress, pressing at the stirring organ between his legs.

_My stockings fall onto the floor, desperate for more._

Dark grey skin palms down his throat as his knee grinds against the sensitive flesh there, now, awoken with the rekindled feelings between Alduin’s flame and the flash of blades. A slight sigh leaves Hadvar and D’Nias’s head flicks up from his groin. The slightest audible sound could give him away. Hadvar doesn’t want to be found in this compromising position and D’Nias doesn’t want to be stabbed by fourteen Imperial guards.

_Nobody else can share this._

With a look, Hadvar shrugs off his chest armour, displaying a canvas of scars, bruises and burns. Littered with freckles, like stars, the Dunmer attacks his throat and shoulders with such agility, burying his lips against the crook of his neck. Lips, slowly, mouth his name; D’Nias. The thief. The assassin. The man who saved his life. The Dragonborn.

_Here comes one and one makes one._

The musk of this man. The bitter scent of blood, steel, snow and sweet mountain flowers. A fingertip — surprisingly, soft to the touch — graces a long scar down his chest, earning a soft mewl from the soldier. Under his armour, the Dunmer, also, sports an impressive girth, Hadvar cupping it in his palm, feeling at the hot flesh beneath. D’Nias chuckles, humourlessly, moving down, removing his knee, to unbuckle the soldier’s lower armour.

_The glorious union, well, it could be love._

Free to the air, Hadvar releases a long sigh only to be punished with a sharp pinch to the head of his girth. Soon, all is forgiven, as dark grey lips wrap themselves around the hilt, sucking the entire organ down. Holding back a loud groan, the Imperial grabs onto the elf’s long, dark hair, holding him in place.

_Or it could be just lust but it will be fun._

The beautiful, dark of his eyes looking up, his lips stretched around the base, the eagerness to please, the control. When they left Helgen, Hadvar had felt it; that gut-wrenching instinct to grab the closest living thing and pound into it. But, it wasn’t just that. It was the clear admiration and gratitude that shone in the elf’s eyes. That is gone, now. All that’s left? Unadulterated lust.

_It will be wonderful._

D’Nias hollows his cheeks as he readies himself for Hadvar’s release. The slick sensation of a long tongue sneaking around the head of his girth brings him forever closer but it’s the scent of the man; the blood, the sweat, the tears and the feeling of soft hair sifting through his fingers as he comes undone. Releasing in D’Nias’s mouth, Hadvar has to nearly bite through his finger to keep silent.

_Oh feel it, oh, oh, feel it, feel it, my love._

And just as suddenly as he arrived, he leaves, shrouding his face in blackness before disappearing off, into the night, the slightest glint of a grin flitting across his eyes before he leaps from the window.  
“See what you're doing to me...?”


	2. Lying in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ‘Bondage and Discipline’ and ‘Fall at Your Feet’ by Crowded House.
> 
> A/N: Due to the tedious and time-consuming nature of editing rich text on iOS Safari, I’ll be putting it off until I get to a PC. Thanks, lads ‘n’ lasses!

It seemed to start when Brynjolf discovered the amount of coin in the Dunmer’s pocket. His fears were only proven correct when he found some folded red and black armour. The armour of killers. The armour of the Dark Brotherhood. The beautiful, quiet Dark Elf that had learnt so much from him. He was a killer.

I'm really close tonight.

When he returns to the Ratway, Brynjolf is waiting for him, friendly as usual.  
“Hey, lad. How was your journey?” He smiles and claps a hand around D’Nias’s shoulder.  
“It was fine. Bryn, are you—”  
“Lad, I’ve got a job; too big for me but perfect for the two of us.” He explains, walking the elf back into his quarters. Bindings wait for him, on the bed, close to a weapons rack, calling for the blood of a traitor. He has to pay.

And I feel like I'm moving inside him.

In a swift movement, he captures the elf’s wrists and binds them, securing them to the weapons rack before turning to close and lock his door.  
“Bryn, what? What’s wrong? Why are you—”  
“You never told me you were a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Those sick degenerates. I never thought you were capable of...” Truth be told, Brynjolf, upon first meeting D’Nias, figured he was too slow to say much of consequence, explaining his silence. No, he was plotting, planning and conniving, all the time, mind too full of secrets and plots that opening his pretty lips might cause them to spill out.

Lying in the dark.

Tearing through material with the blade of an iron dagger, Brynjolf strips down his lithe victim.  
“I trusted you.” The redhead murmurs to himself as he picks up a whip. It takes a couple of tries but, eventually, he brings the leather down, hard and painful, against the Dark Elf’s shoulder blades. He makes no sound. He knows he’s been found out. This had to happen at some point. He had to find out but he never expected this.

An' I think that I'm beginning to know him.

After the twentieth-something lash, small grunts can be heard from the smaller man. Brynjolf has been arguing with himself. Why? Why is he doing this? Because D’Nias is a liar and a traitor. A deceitful and untrustworthy— But, if that was the only case, Brynjolf would have, simply, cast him away. It’s not as if this hasn’t happened before. Why is he so furious, distraught and dismayed at the behaviour of his closest companion? He doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

Let it go.

After fifty or so, the tip is breaking the skin, snowberry-red blood dribbles down his dark skin, streaks of horizontal agony painted across the canvas of his back.  
“Brynjolf, please...” Comes the first words in a half-hour, possibly more. The thief doesn’t expect those words to bury so deep into him. The lashes cease. Blood drips onto the stone floor, Brynjolf standing back to despair at his own horrifying, handiwork.

I'll be there when you call.

A hot, wet tongue slakes up his skin, collecting blood and sparking more to the surface of the skin. The Dunmer hisses in surprise and pain. His blood is metallic and all too sweet for the redhead. Meanwhile, the elf has managed to slip out of his bonds, carding those talented fingers through auburn hair. He escaped with ease. He was, simply, taking the punishment for Bryn’s sake. As the assassin turns, Brynjolf, inadvertently, gets a fair look at his gorgeous piece.  
“I never wanted to hurt you.” D’Nias sighs, unable to look into Brynjolf’s eyes.

And whenever I fall at your feet.

“All I ever wanted...was you.” He breathes, looking away. Surprisingly, Bryn cups his chin and captures his lips, making him whine. Fisting hands in that dark, dark hair, the redhead groans, headily, into the kiss, begging for entrance with his tongue. Lithe fingers go to tangle in Brynjolf’s mess of auburn hair but a hand captures his wrist and brings the palm down to cup his own, growing girth.  
“Come on, lad...” He breathes, drawing away to take off his own armour and lie on his bed, D’Nias mounting him with enthusiasm and ease.

You let your tears rain down on me.

This night had been more painful than he ever thought but Brynjolf could never admit to himself; he was one of the best thieves they’ve ever had. After all, he stole the thing Bryn never thought possible to steal...


End file.
